For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. Hold your hand for a moment. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. It's of no use. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read.
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